


Only in My Dreams

by slashy (slashmyheartandhopetoporn)



Category: Jurassic Park III (2001)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmyheartandhopetoporn/pseuds/slashy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt: "first christmas together"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only in My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> 2 things:
> 
> 1) this does take place in the same universe as "spontaneous combustion"
> 
> 2) i published this late on the 31st, felt a nagging need that something was missing, woke up on the 1st with the realization of what that was, and added 1k. not many folks had read it before the additions, but i wanted to make a note all the same.
> 
> thanks!

They’ve received about a dozen invitations between the two of them—formal and informal—by the time December rolls around. Alan lines up the remaining paper invitations on his dining table while Billy argues with his mother over the phone in the living room.

“I know, Mom, I know. And you know I love being there for Christmas, too, but this year I just—no, no, of course it’s not about that. Jesus, Mom, it’s really not—yeah. Yeah, I know. Look, I just think after everything that I need some time to…to—no. You know I love you, that I love everyone. I’m just tired. I don’t feel up to travelling. Yes, I’m eating fine. Sleeping fine, too. Alan’s helping.”

At the mention of his name, Alan quirks his head to the side and listens to the remaining conversation.

“He’s been great. And things are great…and I appreciate that, Mom, but we’re both just not ready for something like that. We’re going back to work in January, and we just—no, it’s not about you, you know that. It’s just a thing, you know? We need some more time to ourselves before we’re back in the thick of teaching. Yeah, I know it’s been almost six months, but healing doesn’t exactly have an expiration date. We can’t just decide we’re over the whole almost-got-eaten-by-dinosaurs thing just because you want a nice photo for the Christmas card next year.”

Alan watches Billy wince the moment the words leave his mouth, and he shoots the younger man a sympathetic look. A common occurrence lately.

“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out ri—” but halfway through the word Billy pulls the phone away from his ear with a sigh. He turns to look at Alan, and says, “She just hung up on me.”

“It’s not an easy thing to hear,” Alan replies.

Billy comes to stand by Alan, a hand slipping under the collar of Alan’s flannel shirt. Alan returns the touch by sliding his own hand up under Billy’s t-shirt to rest against the small of his back.

“I know it’s not easy to hear me say I won’t be coming home for the holidays, but it shouldn’t be that hard to understand.”

Alan shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“How many more invites do we need to turn down?” Billy asks.

Alan looks down at the tabletop and sighs. “Well, you just told your mother, I told Ellie when she called last week, you emailed Lex and Eric back this morning, and I mailed out our polite decline to Sarah and Ian yesterday. That just leaves the miscellaneous invitations from all the friends and family members we haven’t spoken to in near a decade to deal with, and frankly I’m tempted to say the hell with them and not bother replying at all.”

“They’re all just hoping we’ll come and tell them about The Island anyway. I mean, we don’t have a real relationship with any of them. Who says we owe them any kind of response at all?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with me,” Alan observes dryly.

“Turning into a crotchety bastard like you, you mean?” Billy says with a smile.

“Exactly.”

“You say that like it’s a _bad_ thing.”

Alan curls his hand around Billy’s waist and pulls him in closer. “It’s maybe a little sad to see.”

Billy moves his hand from under Alan’s collar to bury it in Alan’s hair instead, fingers massaging the scalp gently. “Not like it’s your fault.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Billy looks down at Alan and frowns. “So, what? You want us to call back my mother and say we’ll be there with bells on? She extended, however grudgingly, the invitation to you, too. Or are you saying you want to get Ellie back on the phone?”

“I’m not saying a damn thing,” Alan says. “I don’t want to spend Christmas or New Year's with anyone but you; you know that.”

“Then why are we fighting about this?” Billy snaps, and Alan pulls his hand back.

“I didn’t think we were.”

Billy removes his hand as well and takes a step back. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m being a dick.”

“I think you’re tired.”

Billy scoffs and turns away to leave the kitchen. “Well, what the fuck else is new?” he mumbles, then grabs his keys off the living room coffee table. “I think I should head home.”

For a moment, Alan’s breath catches when he thinks Billy does indeed mean to spend Christmas with his family instead of with Alan. But then Billy’s wrestling himself into his coat while simultaneously shuffling back into the kitchen to plant a kiss on Alan’s head, and saying, “We’ll deal with the other invites tomorrow,” when Alan realizes Billy simply means his apartment. He’s disappointed all the same—Billy was originally planning to stay the night—but at least it’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened. So Alan let’s Billy leave without complaint, waiting until Billy’s locked the door behind him to drop his head into his hands.

He’s not sure what to do for the other man—how to help him. No amount of talking or sex seems take the edge off, and Alan finds himself at a loss for what else he can offer.

 

-

 

In the beginning, things had been easier. The relief at each other’s’ existence had blotted out almost everything else, to the point where the first thing Billy had done once he’d gotten out of the hospital was drive to Alan’s house, ring his doorbell, and then immediately crush his lips against Alan’s the moment the door had opened. Their first week together had been a fever of stolen kisses and frantic rutting, intermingled with a sporadic litany of romantic declarations, mostly from Billy but not without Alan’s participation during some of their more heated moments, too. And Billy had repeatedly thought to himself, _We could have been doing this_ months _ago_ with such a private anguish over all the time they’d wasted that he could barely contain himself at the thought whenever Alan so much as looked his way.

But while his commitment to Alan had not waned, and never would, as time went on the novel sheen of their new relationship faded to the background as their other realities moved into the fore. They were local celebrities for one thing. National celebrities too, to a degree, but locally there wasn’t a bar, gas station or grocery store either one of them could go to without being harassed by strangers. Alan, more adept at shutting down nosey gossips, managed the attention without much incident. But Billy found he caved more often than not under all the scrutiny. There seemed to be no balance between providing the public with some semblance of information and protecting his own right privacy; it was all or nothing, and Billy—always wanting to please—struggled with his inability to make anyone happy. In the end he found himself snapping at reporters and acquaintances alike with an equal level of ferocity he always immediately regretted.

There was also the issue of Alan himself. While his affection for Billy was indisputable, and though Billy was fluent in reading Alan’s reserved but varied moods, nothing could quite have prepared him for how Alan would behave once they were back in Montana. If the man was taciturn before, he was damn well silent now, to the point where there were days when it would take Billy hours to coax more than a noncommittal hum out of the man, and if Billy didn’t have the time to for such efforts, then he knew with considerable certainty that Alan would spend the entire day without making any sound at all.

The relationship on its own proved delicate, too. Billy approached relationships like adventures to be had, with bumps and twists and treasures to be revealed along the way, and he firmly believed Alan to be the single most significant treasure of them all. He believed in the spontaneity of romance and the thrill of mutual discovery, and that there was no more sublime a pleasure than being forever-surprised by the man he hoped to spend the rest of his life with. But it became clear to Billy early on that Alan saw relationships like puzzle boxes to be solved, with some definitive answer just waiting to be reached once all the other avenues had been poked, prodded, and then ultimately proven false. Like their relationship was some mystery Alan had to methodically dismantle and reassemble in order to get their complications to click into place, so that half the fun of discovery got lost in his single-minded determination to root out conflict and manipulate it into resolution in the hopes that no new conflict would ever appear to take its place.

Billy knows that lately, however, he’s been the one to force conflict. Sitting in his car, the engine running but the gear still in park, he thinks back on his last few words and then sighs heavily. Then he turns the car off, and walks back up to Alan’s door. He knocks, even though he has a key, and fidgets with his coat zipper until Alan opens the door.

“I thought you’d gone,” Alan says carefully, and Billy hates that he’s made Alan cautious. That he’s made Alan’s fear of inevitable conflict real.

“I’m such an asshole,” Billy says frankly. “And I’m so sorry you’re the one who has to deal with it.”

Alan steps aside to let Billy enter. “I don’t _have_ to _deal_ with anything.”

Billy walks through the door, closing it behind him, and then envelops Alan in a tight hug. “Still, I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“I love you, too, and apology accepted."

 

-

 

Alan watches Billy take a step back from the hug and tries to keep from frowning. He hadn’t wanted to accept the apology because he hadn’t felt it was necessary to start with, but he knows that Billy would have beaten himself up if Alan had refused to acknowledge his penance. It’s become a _thing_ since The Island, Billy’s need to say sorry for things that don’t really need any sort of apology to start with, and it’s starting to drive Alan a little crazy. He finds he wants to shake Billy by the shoulders and yell into his ears that he’s been forgiven. That he was forgiven before they’d even left The Island.  But Alan suspects such an act would make no difference in Billy’s mind, so he’s resigned himself to accepting any apology Billy throws his way, whether deserved or not.

“You want to just hit the hay early?” Billy asks as he shucks off his coat.

Alan nods. “Sounds perfect.”

They never bother making the bed, so there’s a little shuffling around of the covers before they can crawl in themselves. Billy strips down to his boxers, and Alan down to his briefs, and then they’re both tucking themselves against one another and the blankets, Billy’s arm finding its usual spot across Alan’s chest, while Alan throws one of his legs over one of Billy’s. The sheets are cool against Alan’s skin, though the down comforter’s starting to work its magic, and while Alan wants to focus on the warmth slowly working its way into his body, he can’t help but ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Billy shrugs beside him and shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, we’ve talked about it before and nothing’s changed. After everything with The Island, with us, I just want to spend this Christmas not trying to please anyone but you and myself. I don’t have the energy for anyone else right now.”

Alan nods. “Okay. Then that’s that.”

Billy heaves a sigh and then shifts so he’s facing Alan’s profile, the hand resting against Alan’s shoulder starting to move slowly down Alan’s middle. Alan feels Billy’s fingers tickle his skin lightly, and he catches the digits with his own so he can bring them to his lips for a kiss.

The physical element of their relationship is still new to Alan, and he can’t quite get enough of the way Billy’s body feels when pressed so closely to his. Back before The Island, there had been times when Alan had allowed his gaze to linger on Billy’s lithe form, to follow the paths of sweat beading along Billy’s skin under the hot Montana sun, to wonder what they might taste like on his tongue. But daydreaming of gliding his mouth along the nape of Billy’s neck had been a luxury Alan knew he couldn’t afford, so he’d never allowed himself to indulge in such thoughts for long.

Now that he had Billy, naked almost as often as he had him clothed it sometimes seemed, Alan found he barely knew what to do with him. Not because the idea of touching a man was so foreign, but rather because Billy so often seemed too good to be true when placed alongside Alan, his youthful body firm and flexible in ways Alan’s body no longer remembered how to be, if it ever even was before. For the first few months, though, Billy hadn’t seemed to care one bit about the softness of Alan’s body, nor the lack of strength or the abundance of grey hairs and slightly sagging skin. Billy took all of Alan into his hands, into his mouth, without reserve and with much enthusiasm, to the point where Alan frankly forgot altogether that his body looked nothing like Billy’s.

But lately, things have cooled off. In fact, Alan doesn’t think they’ve had sex since the beginning of November. As the holidays had drawn nearer, Billy had further folded into himself, shutting himself away from most of his friends and family. And it was starting to look like he was trying to do the same with Alan.

Which is why Alan’s surprised when Billy gently tugs his hand out of Alan’s grip and trails it slowly down to Alan’s hip.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Billy asks, voice neutral.

Alan clears his throat. “Tell me.”

Billy shifts again so he can press himself fully against Alan’s side, one leg thrown over Alan’s thigh. His hand moves consistently downward.

“You haven’t fucked me.” Billy’s voice is breathy against the shell of Alan’s ear, and Alan shivers as Billy’s hand finally slips under the waistband of his underwear to take Alan’s cock in hand.

“Wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” Alan replies, and he worries he’s been too honest. That Billy will freeze beside him and pull his hand away.

But Billy does no such thing, only strokes Alan harder and nods. “I’ve been difficult these past few weeks. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I think I know how you can make it up to me,” Alan says thickly, and he can see Billy’s small smile in the moonlight.

“I think I know, too. Tell me how you want me.”

The words send a small spark straight through Alan’s spine; he’s not sure he’ll ever get over the thrill of having someone who wants so badly to relinquish so much of his control to Alan. Alan never thought he’d be the kind of person who _likes_ being given control so blatantly in the bedroom, but he finds life with Billy is full of surprises that way. So he shifts onto his side, disrupting Billy’s steady strokes, and gestures for Billy to follow.

Billy slips out of his underwear, reminding Alan he needs to do the same, and then cozies his back against Alan’s front. Alan presses the head of his cock against the crease of Billy’s cheeks, enjoying the small shaky breath he can hear Billy release in front of him.

“Get the lube,” Alan orders, and Billy moves to reach into the nightstand to grab the required bottle.

Alan maneuvers Billy into a more comfortable position and then takes his time preparing the younger man, pressing kisses against the nape of Billy’s neck while his fingers work him open. Billy keeps releasing a steady stream of pleas and curses while Alan works, and for every one Alan nips gently against Billy’s heated skin. Some will leave marks that only Alan will know about, and that fact thrills him. When he finally enters Billy, however, Billy falls completely silent but for a sharp intake of breath.

“I’ve missed this,” Alan mutters against Billy’s ear as his hips begin to thrust. “Missed the way you feel.”

“Jesus, Alan,” is all Billy seems able to reply.

“Did you miss this too?”

Billy groans and presses as close as he can back against Alan. “You know I did.”

“Tell me how much.”

“Missed your thick cock inside me--missed the sound of your voice in my ear telling me what you like. What you want.”

“You like it when I tell you what I want?”

“And when you tell me how good I’ve been for giving it to you.”

“That’s because you are, Billy. So good. Too good.” Alan punctuates every word with a sharp thrust. “You’ve always been too good for me.”

“I love you,” Billy stutters out. “So fucking much.”

Alan pants heavily into Billy’s curls and squeezes his eyes shut. “I love you more. I’ll always love you more.”

 

-

 

There’s a moment just before Billy cums when all other sensations beyond the feel of Alan fucking him deep float away into nothing, so the only thing left is the friction of Alan’s cock dragging in and out of him. In this moment Billy can’t speak, and he can’t hear. He can only breathe in desperate gasps as Alan fucks him loose and open, and when one of Alan’s hands wraps warmly around Billy’s cock, it’s game over. He can’t keep himself from spilling into Alan’s palm and all over the sheets.

Despite his release, he can still tell Alan’s own orgasm is a few moments behind, though the sporadic slam of his hips tells Billy he’s close. So Billy takes the hand covered in his cum with his own and guides it slowly to his lips, where he sucks one digit into his mouth, laving at the pads of Alan’s fingertips. It’s just enough to set Alan over the edge, and with one last jut of his hips, Alan’s cumming inside of Billy with a quiet moan that crests over Billy’s consciousness like a wave.

Fifteen minutes later and Billy still finds he’s incapable of communicating. It’s been weeks since Alan’s taken him like that, and he’s revelling in the blissed out heaviness that’s overtaken his limbs. Alan seems equally lost in post-orgasm satisfaction, so Billy figures it’s okay he’s not quite ready to speak yet. But there are things he wants to say to Alan, things he _needs_ to say. Apologies he needs to make and promises he wants to repeat. Before he gets the chance, he hears Alan snore, a tell-tale sign the man’s fallen asleep. Billy allows himself to do the same.

In the morning, he wakes up to the smell of coffee, and when he enters the kitchen, there are two mugs waiting on the island.

“Morning,” Alan says from where he stands over the stove.

“Morning,” Billy replies blearily. “What are you making?”

“Eggs. Scrambled. Toast, too. There might be bacon leftover from Thursday, though, if you’re interested.”

Billy comes up to stand behind Alan, his chin resting on Alan’s shoulder. “Eggs and toast are fine.” Alan’s willingness--and desire even--to cook for Billy proves an endless source of pleasure for him, even when the dish is as simple toast and scrambled eggs.

“Can I help with something?” Billy asks.

Alan turns around to offer Billy a small smile and a chaste kiss. “No, just take a seat and I’ll bring the eggs over when their ready.”

When breakfast is done they both sit on stools at the island, sipping their coffee between bites.Though Billy’s plate has plenty of food, he can’t keep himself from stealing off Alan’s plate all the same. He likes the quiet exasperated sighs the action always draws from Alan. Alan retaliates, though, by stealing sips of Billy’s coffee.

“I’m not looking forward to losing this when school starts up again,” Billy says as he spears another piece of egg with his fork, and Alan snorts.

“Good thing we still have another month.”

“More than, really.”

“Not if you count semester prep time.”

“Shit,” Billy says, throwing his toast crust onto the plate. “I’d forgotten all about that part.”

“And to think: some people find lesson planning one of the most fun parts of teaching.”

Billy is decidedly _not_ one of those people. “I just hate making a syllabus.”

Alan nods and rubs a sympathetic hand along Billy’s thigh, and Billy wonders if that hand might drift a little further inward; he’s still feeling the effects of the night before and certainly wouldn’t say no to a morning continuation. But Alan’s hand stays firmly in the safe zone. “Wouldn’t be so bad if we thought the students would actually read them,” he says, and it takes Billy a moment to remember they were talking about syllabi.

“Now _there’s_ a good joke,” he says with a small laugh.

They fall quiet until Alan sets down his fork and says, “So, I’ve been thinking. About the invitations, I mean.”

Billy makes a noncommittal hum from behind his coffee cup.

“I think we should just leave it all as is,” Alan continues. “The rest of the invites weren’t sent with any kind of sincerity, and I don’t think we owe them any sort of real response. Might even teach them not to bother next year.”

Billy nods, relieved at the thought of putting the Christmas invitations behind them. “I like the way you think.”

“Thought you might,” Alan says, cuffing Billy around the neck, and Billy feels his cheeks flush. He still can't get enough of Alan’s casual intimate touches. They’d always been a little handsier with one another than was strictly necessary, but Billy had been hyper aware of every touch, worried that some undergrad or professor might catch on. To what exactly, he was never really sure, but he’d been worried about anything getting in the way of his and Alan’s professional and personal relationship. Now that they’re together, and out, there doesn’t seem to be much left to worry about, and Billy lets himself enjoy every small touch that Alan sends his way.

“So, what would you like to do today, Mr. Grant?” Billy asks, cheeks still a little pink.

Alan puts his chin in his hands and makes a considering expression, eyebrows knit and lips pursed. “Well, Mr. Brennan, I thought we might reconvene in the bedroom and continue the good work we started last night.”

Billy huffs and runs a hand through his hair. He hadn’t expected Alan to say _that_. “Well, Mr. Grant, I see no reason why we couldn’t. Anything in particular you’d like us to work on?”

Alan grins. “I do believe, if you’re so inclined, that I’d like you to fuck me.”

Billy’s cheeks blush bright red again. “I do believe I am,” he says with a slight stutter. “Lead the way.”

 

-

 

Standing in his living room, completely out of breath, Alan allows himself one moment to be irritated at Billy before he neatly tucks the emotion away to re-focus on the situation at hand.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit,” he says tersely.

Billy, also out of breath, snaps back, “It fits just fine.”

“Tell that to my front door.”

“I offered to keep it at my place.”

“Billy, your entire apartment couldn’t have fit this if we’d hacked it in two.”

Billy gives Alan a pleading look, one Alan’s come to understand infinitely well. The one that screams, _I’m sorry! I was just trying to do something nice. I didn’t mean for it to turn to shit. Please don’t be mad at me._ And Alan finds all he can do is sigh and add, “It’s fine, Billy. I was overreacting. Didn’t do any damage we can’t fix.”

Billy tries for a small smile. “Can’t say it doesn’t look good in your living room, though can you? Even if it did get a little bent out of shape on the way in.”

Alan considers the enormous Christmas tree now occupying one corner of his living room, its sappy pine needles littering the floor from the front entrance to its final resting place, and admits that Billy has a point. It does look good. “Smells nice, too,” he begrudgingly adds.

Billy grins wide. “And once we put on some decorations, it won’t look so knocked around.”

Alan figures that's probably true. He _hopes_ it’s true in any case. “Did you bring any decorations with you, by the way?”

“I thought you had some. . . .”

Alan can’t keep the irritation out of his voice now. “Billy, why would I have any decorations when I haven’t had a tree in ten years?”

“Well, shit,” Billy replies. “I’ve never had my own tree so I don’t have any decorations either.”

Collapsing into his favorite armchair, Alan sighs only a little dramatically. “We’re shit at this whole Christmas thing, aren’t we?”

“Don’t say that. We’re just new to doing it ourselves.”

“Because that’s not a little pathetic.”

“Only to you.” Then Billy walks over to Alan’s chair and sits carefully on the armrest. “We just need to make a quick stop to Target and then we'll be all set.”

“It’ll be a zoo! Christmas is only a week out.”

“Then between The Island and teaching you should be well-prepared.”

Alan looks at Billy and finds his resistance falling away. Something about his partner’s expression always softens Alan’s ire, even when they’ve been fighting, as they had been about almost every facet of the tree since Billy had suggested they obtain it.

“I guess we're going to Target.”

Billy all but beams and Alan feels a seed of warmth blossom in his stomach.

 

-

 

Target  _is_ a zoo, but Billy doesn't mind one bit. He and Alan make their way to the Christmas section, slowly given the crowd, and Billy sets to work picking out ornaments. 

"How do you feel about getting some other decorations for the house?" he asks, but when Alan doesn't reply, Billy turns to look at him. He finds Alan warily eyeing a gaggle of children. "They're not compies," he says, and Alan finally looks up to meet his eyes.

"They may as well be."

"Jesus, Alan. Are you going to look at our own kids that way?"

Billy suspects time stops for both of them at the comment, but he figures he's the only one who stops breathing. 

He coughs as his face turns red. "Let's just forget I said that, yeah?"

"Consider it forgotten," Alan agrees, then turns examine a nearby nutcracker intensely. He throws it into their basket with a nod. "And some more decorations would be fine."

Billy tries to shove the remark out of his mind, but it's hard, even with all the activity going on around him. It's only when he comes across a display of novelty ornaments that he gets fully distracted. Mostly because he spies, right at the top, a small plastic t-rex wearing a santa hat. He takes it down and gives it a hard look. Objectively, it's cute. Silly. Complete non-threatening. The t-rex's little plastic teeth couldn't hurt a fly, let alone Alan or Billy, and its resemblance to its genetically modified counterpart isn't very striking. Which is ultimately why Billy turns back to Alan and shakes the ornament in his hand. 

"Would it be in poor taste for me to buy this?"

Alan takes the rex in his hand and tilts his head. "Since when have I become a paragon of good taste?"

Billy grins and takes the ornament back. He gives it another look and then tosses it into the basket along with the others.

"There's a triceratops and a stegosaurus too," Alan says.

"I say we get the whole lot. As long as there are no pteranodons. Or pterodactyls, just to be safe."

"I'd prefer no raptors either," Alan adds. 

"God, yeah. I second that motion." They share a look, one that's equal parts amused and harrowed. A delicate balance, Billy knows, but one they've each managed to master. It's difficult to find humor in the misery without acknowledging there's some misery to start with, after all. 

"We need some lights, too, don't we?" Alan asks, and Billy is privately pleased at Alan's use of the word "we." For the most part, Alan's been referring to the tree as something wholly Billy's responsibility, with he and his house simply the unfortunate victims of the tree's existence. 

"Definitely we need lights," he says with a serious nod. "And not those elegant white ones either. I want color. Major color."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me in the least."

 

-

 

When all is said and done and the tree is laden with lights and ornaments, and even a few strings of popcorn Billy had decided to make right at the end, Alan has to admit it makes his house feel infinitely more cheerful. The living room's saturated with the smell of the popcorn and the pine tree itself, and the warm glow of the multicolor lights falls softly on Billy's skin, making Alan's heart beat just a little harder. Once he gets the fireplace going, too, his home feels downright charming.

"Just say it," Billy says suddenly from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor between the fireplace and the tree. "I won't judge you."

Alan sighs and doesn't bother pretending he doesn't know what Billy is talking about. "This was a good idea."

Billy nods, satisfied. "We need some hot coco now or something. Maybe a hot toddy?"

Alan gets up from the couch and heads for the kitchen. "Two hot toddies it is."

As Alan adds the bourbon to the tea, he thinks about how relieved he is that alcohol has never been coping mechanism for either him or Billy. The thought comes to him, unbidden, but once it arrives it occupies his mind, even as he returns to the living room with the drinks in hand. He and Billy don't generally talk about their healing processes, though Billy has on occasion suggested they try therapy. Alan always wave the idea off--he doesn't need to talk about what happened to feel better about it. He tried that after the first time and got nothing out of the experience except a steady stream of royalty checks that made him feel hollow inside for ever selling his trauma in Jurassic Park to the general public. But still, sometimes he allows himself to accept the fact that at the very least, Billy needs some extra help. The mood swings have only gotten worse, and Alan knows for a fact that Billy feels no less guilty about his actions on The Island than he did the day Alan found out he'd taken the eggs. He'd like to encourage Billy to try therapy for himself, but he knows Billy won't do it if he won't, and Alan  _definitely_ won't.

"Alan!" Billy near-yells, and he jumps in his seat slightly, his toddy spilling over the brim and burning his hand.

"Shit," he mutters, setting the glass down. "What was the for?"

Billy frowns. "I was talking to you, but you looked like you couldn't even hear me."

Alan wipes his hand on his pants and briefly closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, Billy. Got lost in thought for a minute there."

"Care to share?"

Alan doesn't. He gives Billy a look that communicates just that. 

Billy raises a hand in surrender. "Fine. I get it." He looks angry, and Alan quietly berates himself for being difficult. But then Billy's face softens. "I don't want to fight about anything right now. Can I get you some ice for your hand?"

Alan shakes his head. "No, I'm all right. Really."  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

"Okay, good. Then let's try this again. To Christmas!" Billy says, lifting his glass.

Alan takes his own off the coffee table and clinks the rim to Billy's. "To Christmas."

 

-

 

On Christmas Eve, Billy decides he can’t keep avoiding his mail for the month, so he sits down at his dining table where he’s been tossing his daily letters and advertisements and readies himself to dig through all the shit in case there’s actually something important. He knows from experience over the past few months, though, that there’s usually not.

It’s become a _thing_ , this mail-avoidance, one he refuses to talk about with Alan. With anyone, really. It’s gotten so bad, that he knows if his bills weren’t dealt with through online auto-pay, he’d probably fail to make any of his payments on time. But of the things he finds in his mailbox everyday, most seem to be either junk mail or requests from reporters and publishers asking if he’d be interested in sharing his experiences on The Island with the rest of the world, and as Billy’s doing everything he can to forget he was ever on that god-forsaken Island to start with, his general response is to run the offending letters through a shredder and then chuck the scraps into the trash.

It doesn’t help that the closer Christmas comes, the more depressed Billy gets. His nightmares of The Island have gone into overdrive, and he finds he starts his days with a bone-deep anxiety he can’t explain or shake. It pits in his stomach so he can’t eat or drink without wanting to vomit, and every soft touch from Alan feels like sandpaper on his skin. He’s been sleeping at his own apartment for the last two nights as a result, the familiar smell and feel of his sheets the only balm he can find as his nerves fray further to nothing.

His behavior is starting to wear on Alan, too. Billy can tell by the way Alan’s started growing quieter as the week’s gone on, to the point where it’s almost 6:00 on Christmas Eve, and Billy hasn’t gotten so much as a phone call from the man. He knows if he doesn’t make the call himself, he’ll go the whole day without hearing Alan’s voice. He picks up his cell phone.

“Hello,” says Alan’s gravelly voice.

“Hey,” Billy says awkwardly. “What are you up to?”

“Putting Ellie’s gifts under the tree.”

Billy smiles a little, despite everything. “So they got here in the knick of time.”

Alan is quiet on the other end of the line. Then, “Why aren’t you here?”

Billy’s feeling raw, so his gut reaction is to snap, “You could always come over here.” But he bites his tongue. Swallows. “I’m having a hard time staying focused. Driving didn’t seem like a good idea.”

Alan’s reply is quick. “I could come get you.”

Billy swallows again. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Fifteen minutes later and Billy hears the lock on his front door turn. Alan’s there a moment later, closing the door behind him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Billy shakes his head. “Not really.”

Alan takes a step forward, but then stops. “Are you avoiding me?” he asks, and Billy can tell the thought pains Alan immensely.

“I’m not, I promise,” he answers. “I just needed to be in my own space.”

“Without me?”

Billy doesn’t know how to describe to Alan what he needs. How it isn’t about being without Alan so much as it’s about needing to exist in an environment he has total control over.

“You could stay here with me,” Billy says, tentative that Alan will actually agree.

Alan runs a hand through his hair and looks around Billy’s small kitchen. He’s never said a bad thing about Billy’s place, but there’s no denying his apartment doesn’t compare to Alan’s house. Billy half expects Alan to refuse, to insist they go back to his house together. That was why Alan came over in the first place, to drive Billy back with him. And Billy knows Alan gets protective and needy of his own space in the same way Billy does.

But Alan only nods, surprising Billy. “Okay. You hungry?”

 

-

 

Alan hasn’t been inside Billy’s apartment in weeks. Except for his occasional runs to pick up and drop off Billy, he hasn’t even stepped inside of it since before Thanksgiving. It’s not exactly a personal choice--he has nothing against Billy’s apartment, and in fact finds the place rather cozy--but more of an unconscious habit. His house is bigger, the bed softer. And there are no neighbors to share walls with for the nights when they’re fucking so loud they’d surely wake up anyone not a few dozen feet away.

But Alan takes one look at Billy and understands why he didn’t feel comfortable getting behind the wheel: he’s clearly shaky and pale, and when he stands to embrace Alan, he seems almost unsteady on his feet. Alan wants to kick himself for not pushing to see the younger man sooner.

“You haven’t been eating,” he says as he holds Billy.

“Well, you aren’t speaking,” Billy says back, voice harsh. Then, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Alan shakes his head. “It’s okay, Billy. You’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” Billy whispers, and Alan hugs him tighter.

“You need to eat.”

They order Chinese, because it’s easy and it’s comforting, and eat it in Billy’s living room, since the table’s still covered with December’s mail dump. Somewhere between Alan arriving and the food being delivered, Billy gets his appetite back, scarfing down his chow mein and sesame chicken with alarming speed.

Alan watches Billy eat and thinks back on his dig about Alan’s lack of conversation. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen back into that pattern once more. He’d promised he’d never leave Billy with that oppressive silence again, but here he was, abandoning a clearly struggling Billy with nothing but a few grunts to keep him company. Alan shoves his food away, suddenly disgusted with himself.

“I’m sorry I stopped talking,” he says, though he knows an apology isn’t enough.

Billy freezes mid-chew, then swallows thickly. “I--we...We haven’t been coping very well, have we?”

Alan shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we have.”

“I thought celebrating Christmas might help,” says Billy, trailing off.

“I know you did. And I wanted it to.”

“Think it still can?”

Alan shrugs. “I think you have to stop trying to force it.” He’s blunt because he’s not sure how else to be.

“I know,” Billy agrees. “I just want...I want one thing to be left untouched by that fucking Island. I want to spend one fucking day not thinking once about...everything.”

“I know, honey,” Alan says quietly.

Billy finally puts down his fork and pushes his hands into his eyes. “How did you survive this the first time? How are you surviving it now?”

Alan doesn’t know how to tell Billy that sometimes he thinks he didn’t survive at all. That everything that’s happened since Jurassic Park is just some vivid, twisted, beautiful dream in which he put himself back among the dinosaurs but came away with the love of his life. So instead he says, “I didn’t survive it very well the first time. And the only reason I survived the second is because I had you with me.”

Alan watches Billy roughly wipe tears away. “I feel like I’m falling apart. And all I want is to be strong. For you, for me. For _us_.”

“Billy, you already are,” Alan insists, but he knows his words aren’t really getting through to Billy. So he grabs Billy by the shoulders and pulls him forward into another hug. Whispers, _I love you so much_ fiercely into Billy’s ear, over and over again.

 

-

 

Billy wakes up Christmas morning in his own apartment where there are very few Christmas decorations in place and certainly no tree, and feels lighter than he has in months. Alan still sleeps soundly next to him, sporadic snores particularly pronounced in the early morning quiet, so Billy allows himself a few moments to stay cuddled into the warmth of the blankets and his partner before his bladder gets the best of him. When he returns from the bathroom, Alan is awake and sitting up against the wall.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

Billy smiles and crawls back into bed, resting his head in Alan’s lap. “Merry Christmas,” he replies.

One of Alan’s hands finds its way into Billy’s sleep-mussed curls. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night.”

Billy had noticed. “I think I slept the best I have in months, to be honest.” And it’s true: admitting to Alan that he’s still heavily struggling with the events that took place on The Island, as obvious as his struggles may have been, lifted a weight from Billy’s shoulders. When he slept, he dreamt of nothing, and when he woke his only thought had been _god, I love this man_.

Alan smiles fondly and asks, “And do you feel better today?”

Billy looks up at him and grins. He does feel better--infinitely better. “Better than I have in months.”

“What do you say we get up and dressed and then head over to my place for breakfast?”

“I say, ‘Yes, please’. We have gifts over at your place, too, don’t we?”

“Yes, Billy,” Alan says with a long-suffering sigh, but he’s looking at Billy warmly all the same. “You know,” he adds, “I think some proper Christmas cheer finally reached us after all.”

Billy considers this for a moment. In the back of his mind, the pteranodons lash away at his skin, cracking his bones in their mouths, screeching their fury in his ears. But then he refocuses on Alan hovering above him, his fingers massaging Billy’s scalp, and his mind quiets.

He leans his head up as Alan stretches himself downward to share a kiss. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve you,” he admits quietly.

Alan presses another kiss against Billy’s temple, and Billy’s eyes flutter shut at the gentleness of the action. “God knows the feeling is mutual.”

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope the ending doesn't feel too rushed! thanks for reading :) SORRY IT'S NOT PUBLISHED IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS.


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